Fourteen
by quillandspindle
Summary: She was fourteen - too young to have vested interests in particular people who weren't blood relatives. And definitely too young to have expectations. So when he came home for the first time after nineteen months and thirteen days, she knew exactly what (not) to expect.


**A/N: I have so. Much. To. Do. Before the Christmas break, but I wanted to write again, because writing is like a drug. Someone asked if I'd ever do a oneshot, and I'd never done it, so it sounded like a fun thing to try. I pulled this out of my brain just this afternoon. Minimal editing, so it's incredibly rough and I can't promise anyone is even in character. But here it is. Enjoy!**

 **Also, I've gone and done something crazy - at someone's suggestion (I'm beginning to sound like I have no initiative of my own and just do what other people tell me to do), I entered Brink in inkitt's Fanfic contest. Erk. I cleaned it up a bit more and changed the summary to something less lame, but it's essentially the same story as the one here on my profile. If you have a minute and have read Brink, please, please, please would you go vote for me? Voting closes the week after Christmas, I think. The link is here: inkitt dot com slash stories/47562**

 **Or you can just go to inkitt dot com and type "Brink" into the search engine.**

 **Thanks so much, guys!**

* * *

When she finally saw him again, it was two weeks before Christmas.

There had been no warning - no text, no postcard, not even a generic update on Facebook or Twitter.

She gave him the benefit of the doubt - where he was, she later reflected, there was probably no access to the internet. Although he might at least have called once he'd returned to civilization - airports had payphones, surely (even if they were being tragically phased out with the advent of their mobile counterparts).

As had train stops.

And helipads.

And marinas and quays and harbors and whatever those places were called at which people got on and off boats and ships and submarines and life rafts.

Also the ground stations of NASA and Space-X.

Yes, that would just about cover all the ways he could've come home from . . . wherever he'd been for almost two years.

(But _really -_ how, for crying out loud, did he not own a cell phone?)

She eventually decided it was because he'd wanted to make a grand entrance, a dramatic homecoming, a Big Deal.

Nacissistic idiot.

It happened on one of those mild midwinter nights, a rare gift from the weather gods between a fortnight of snowdrifts and the promise of more blizzards all the way through to New Year's Day. She'd been on the laptop, frantically browsing Amazon's bountiful virtual aisles of merchandise for Christmas gifts when she heard the knock.

She frowned. It was too late for the mailman, and the neighbors didn't make it a habit to visit, even during the holidays.

She shut the laptop and rose, clenching her fists slightly, just in case. Not that she would be in terrible danger - one shout, and her parents would come bounding down the stairs.

Unless she were gagged and chloroformed first.

She shook her head at her own paranoia.

The war was over. Had been for months now.

Another sound; she tensed.

The locks on the door opened.

Her heart went into a tailspin.

 _It couldn't be_.

Cold moonlight poured into the entryway.

She ran -

\- and collided into her uncle.

He grunted, then laughed softly when she pulled away and stared at him in barely-concealed disappointment.

"Oh," she gasped, trying not to peer around him, to see if there were anyone else in the doorway.

"Good to see you, too," he chuckled at her, not missing how her eyes had darted behind him.

She mentally slapped herself, finally letting rational thought calm the histrionics of her heart, and shot a genuine smile at the man holding her.

"It's just me," he told her, his own smile sympathetic.

"You're back!" She said, deciding on the truth. "You surprised me."

A noise from the staircase made them both look up. Her mother padded down on slippered feet, smiling her own welcome, "I thought I heard something."

"Dad asleep?"

"He'll sleep through an earthquake, just like your sister," her mother grinned as she hugged her brother-in-law. "You staying the night?"

He nodded, shedding his coat. "Just a stopover. I'm heading out tomorrow."

"They'll all want to see you," her mother said.

"I'll be around till lunchtime. Next time I'm back, I'll stay longer. But this appointment is important - a good trade opportunity. I don't want to pass it up."

Her mother nodded, then yawned. "I'm going back to bed. Good to have you home, even for a few hours."

He called out _goodnight_ and her mother headed upstairs once more.

Alone again, her uncle looked at her, almost disapproving that she hadn't also left.

"Staying up, then? Oh, that's right - you teenagers are all night people, I remember. Not good for your health, by the way - you know what they say about beauty sleep."

"You're worse than Mom. I was just doing some online shopping when you came home. But yeah, I should probably call it a night, too. Tomorrow's a schoolday." She tried to keep her tone nonchalant.

"Good idea. Go to bed, kid. Git. See ya in the morning."

His eye twitched. She could've sworn it was a wink, but his face remained deadpan and she decided she'd imagined it.

She picked up the laptop and walked to her room. Next door, she could hear her sister's soft snores through the open door.

She shut her own door and flicked on the light.

And almost screamed.

He was lying on her bed, hands behind his head, eyes closed.

"Finally! Thought you'd never get here. You talk too much." His voice was different - not to the extent that she didn't recognize it, but enough so that she noticed he wasn't the same boy who'd left.

She gaped.

He opened his eyes at last and blinked at her, a smirk on his face.

"This is where you say you missed me and practically died when you thought I didn't come back with your uncle."

She finally snapped out of her paralysis and walked over to her bed, glaring down at him with her hands on her hips.

"In your dreams, buster."

"You know you did." He ignored her barb, grinning up at her.

"Dad will kill you if he finds you here," she threatened, simply for something else to say.

He snorted. "Why? What's he afraid you'll do with me?"

She gaped again, speechless at his audacity, stunned that he was teasing her . . . was he _flirting_?

He sat up, taking in her red cheeks, enjoying how easily he'd gotten her flustered. Oh, he'd missed that.

"Are you gonna turn me out, then?" He raised an eyebrow, knowing he had her trapped.

"Get off my bed," she hissed at him, struggling for a reason that didn't have an incriminating connotation attached to it. "You're probably filthy after not seeing the inside of a shower for - what - two years?"

"Nineteen months and thirteen days," he returned, swinging his feet off the side of the bed and standing up before her, "that I've been away. But only two days since I had a bath. The last Hilton we stayed at had wonderful facilities."

It wasn't just his voice that had changed.

She had to look up at him now, just a tilt of her chin to stare evenly in his eyes. His face was leaner, too, not as soft and boyish as when he'd first succumbed to puberty and all its inherent inconveniences.

"Hello." He said.

"Hey." She returned.

"You're still in one piece, I see."

"You sound disappointed. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

"Only because the worst of the Everafter crime syndicates went into hiding after the war. Can't say the same for the humans, though. I've seen enough crap while traveling the world - _your_ world - to make me almost miss the Scarlet Hand."

"Where were you, anyway?" She asked, feeling herself break at last. "You never called."

"Didn't know you wanted me to." His reply was so quick, it almost sounded defensive.

"I didn't. I mean, I didn't expect you to. I mean. . . it would've been nice to know you weren't dead."

He chuckled.

"Nice try. I _knew_ you were pining."

"I wasn't! I never - "

"Southeast Asia."

"What?"

"All around the region, but Southeast Asia, mostly. That's where we were - Borneo, Indonesia, Thailand, Philippines. Cities, jungles, tropical rainforests. Astounding amount of artifacts to be found, especially after trekking through unchartered territory for weeks and months on end. Fascinating cultures and all manner of superstitions. Also leeches. Lots to do and see."

He turned toward the window, looking out at the moon, still speaking.

"Except payphones - kinda hard to find out in the middle of nowhere. That's why I didn't call."

"But the _cities_? And the hotels with the wonderful facilities?" It slipped out before she could think to censor it for what it implied.

He didn't miss it.

"I _knew_ it. You care about me!"

"Shut it, stupid. Don't start."

He gave her an odd look. "I wasn't aware that we had expectations."

"We don't."

"Ah."

"And that's why."

He was silent, waiting for her to elaborate.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. This was not going well.

"I'm fourteen. You're four thousand and . . . whatever. I'm not old enough to _have_ expectations. You know what? Just forget it."

She turned away, but his hand was on her arm.

"I missed you."

She froze.

"That's what you wanted to hear, wasn't it?"

Slowly, she faced him again. Her mouth opened, but it was several seconds later when the words found their way out.

"I . . . was worried. I didn't know if you were alive or not. And I didn't know if I had the right to. . . to. . . Before you left, we never talked about. . ."

She cursed herself for being a stammering fool. She was fourteen, for heaven's sake - too young to have vested interests in particular people who weren't blood relatives. And _definitely_ too young to have expectations.

"And _I'm_ not too young." He crossed his arms over his chest, defiant.

"Huh?"

"You said you were too young to have expectations. But I'm not."

" . . . "

"I'm not talking about pledging ourselves to each other!" He clarified, shuddering. "I'm saying we didn't say goodbye when I left."

"I seem to remember that we did."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"You're not making this easy for me, are you? I meant we should've . . . could've talked about saying goodbye when we . . . said goodbye. Dangit. Why are you doing this to me?"

She laughed. She couldn't help it. He was adorable when he was being a klutz.

He huffed, looking down, his ears red.

She took his hand.

"What are we?"

He shook his head.

"We're supposed to be -"

"No," she stopped him. "What are we _now_?"

"I don't know." He sounded genuinely confused.

"Me neither. Whatever we're supposed to be in the future . . . I can't even. . . Look, here's what I know: when you didn't call or text or whatever for nineteen months and however many days, I was worried about you. That's because _right now,_ you're important to me. And _right now_ I can deal with."

"And when I was away for nineteen months _and thirteen days_ , _I_ worried about _you_ being safe. I guess that means you're important to me, too."

"Okay."

"Fine."

A pause bridging thoughts, before her mouth once again betrayed her.

"And yes, dummy, I missed you, too."

He smiled then, a wide, delighted grin which quickly became an arrogant smirk.

"I _knew_ it."

It was her turn to roll her eyes.

"So, are you leaving tomorrow, too?"

He shook his head regretfully.

"Actually, I have to head back home tonight and see Mother. I'll be meeting your uncle at the airport tomorrow. More magic to wrangle; Europe, this time."

"Hopefully more cities than jungles?"

"Hopefully."

"Don't be a stranger."

"I won't."

"And get yourself a cell, for Pete's sake."

"On it."

They stood in the moonlight feeling excruciatingly awkward, on the edge of either laughter or violently heaving. Then - she was not sure who moved first - she was suddenly in his arms, marveling at how her head fit against his shoulder.

"I should probably go," he murmured, "before your dad finds me here."

"Yes, because I'm still young enough to be grounded for life for having a boy in my room."

"Someday you won't," he teased.

"That sounds like an expectation, Stinker."

His smile was sharp in the shadows, but he didn't disagree. He climbed onto her windowsill, a silhouette against the constellations. She let her heart flutter once - just once - at his beauty.

"See you around, then. Oh -"

He reached into his backpack, pulled out something and tossed it to her.

It was his wooden sword, worn and battered. He'd brought down a dragon with it, and won a war.

"Early engagement gift." He said, and laughed at her shocked expression. "I get a cellphone so you don't worry about me, and you get a sword so I don't worry about you. Win-win."

Her heart did a thing, as she looked up from the sword she was holding, to his eyes, gleaming green in the light from her bedroom lamp. She would've moved toward him just then, and taken his face in her hands and his mouth with hers, fourteen or no.

But he saluted her with two fingers, and bade her goodbye with a smirk and a leap into the sky.

She watched him soar over the trees, then gave the sword the kiss that had been meant for him.

 _Next time_ , she promised herself. Expectations be damned.


End file.
